Soulmate
by fyrelitany
Summary: Sam and Dean are hunting a killer that has been dead for fifteen years. A woman with visions can either help or cause more problems than either of them are prepared to handle. Sam and Dean must work against a sheriff that is hiding something while searching for leads that have been long since buried. Can they find the killer before the latest victim dies?
1. Chapter 1

"Soulmate"

Abilene, Kansas

A beautiful, young, blonde woman looks out of a kitchen window. Rain is pouring from the pitch black sky. She turns around and leans against the sink. "Em, it's really coming down out there. Are you still sure you want to stop by?" Her voice is raspy and scratchy, like sandpaper. She is wearing baggy sweat pants and a Kansas State t-shirt. "Plus, I don't want to get you sick."

She moves to the stove and stirs a steaming pot. "Alright, see you in twenty. Bye." She grabs a towel and coughs into it before reaching for a package of lozenges sitting next to the sink. Unwrapping the honey colored lozenge, she pops it into her mouth before returning to the stove. She tosses the wrapper onto the counter with the collection of magazines and books. A loud knocking makes her jump. She hurries through the living room and into the foyer. "I thought you said you were still at the bar," she says as she opens the front door. No one is standing there. The cold, wet night air causes her to shiver as she steps out onto the front porch. She looks around, peering into the darkness. Streetlamps are dim in the storm and don't penetrate beyond the sidewalk. She shrugs and rubs her hands over her bare arms before re-entering the house.

Checking the pot on the stove, she stirs it a couple of times to make sure it isn't sticking. A tendril of her blonde hair blows in her face. She scrapes it behind her ear as she turns around. The back door is cracked open. A chill races through her body as a shaky breath escapes between her lips. She looks around the kitchen before moving to grab a knife out of the butcher block on the counter next to the sink. Her hand, holding the knife is quivering with fear. With her back against the cabinet so she is facing the rest of the kitchen, she moves towards the door. Taking a deep breath, she throws the back door open and jumps into the doorway.

No one is there. "What the hell." She flips on the light and illuminates the space. Peering into the thick shadows of the backyard, nothing is there. Trees are swaying from the impact of rain and wind. A creeping shiver runs through her body. Closing the door, she locks it, looks out the window and returns to the stove. Except for the bubbling of the pot, silence surrounds her. She puts the knife down and picks up the phone. Dialing a number, she walks back to the kitchen window. As the phone is ringing, there is a scuffing sound behind her. She turns around. "You scared me." She punches a button on the phone. "What are you doing here?" A quizzical look crosses her dainty features before a scream rips from her scratchy throat.

Sam is reading a newspaper with his flashlight as Dean slides into the front seat, his mouth full of greasy French fries, with bags full of the same and hamburgers. Sam takes a soda from Dean and places it between his legs. Frowning, he looks through the bags.

"I thought I asked for a salad?"

"There's lettuce, tomatoes, and onions on these burgers. Too much rabbit food is bad for you."

Sam rolls his eyes and lays the burger on his thigh and returns to the newspaper.

"Did you find something?" Dean asks as he takes a huge bite of his burger. A look of ecstasy flickers through his green eyes.

"Yeah, I think so. In Abilene, Kansas over the past two months, there have been four disappearances. The bodies of the victims are found five days later. The most recent disappearance happened last night. Police say the MO matches the Serenity Park killer."

Talking around a mouth full of food, "It doesn't sound like one of ours. It's some local douche bag that escaped from jail."

Sam takes a swig from his soda. "No, this is one of ours. It says here the Serenity Park killer was executed 15 years ago."

"Damn, that's us. Let's ride." Dean fires up the Impala. The engine groans to life with a loud roar as he throws it into drive and pulls onto the highway.

The next day, they pull into a parking spot in front of the town's sheriff department. Sam feels in his pocket to make sure he has his fake badge ready. The suit is still a little damp from washing it last night. They haven't been back to the bunker in a while and Sam is getting tired. He wants to bury himself in the books he hasn't had a chance to read yet. Dean yawns and finishes off the last of the coffee they picked up earlier. He wasn't able to sleep last night after arriving in town. He misses his memory foam mattress and he knows it's missing him too.

The desk sergeant has his head bent low and is busy typing something. His large hands move quickly over the keyboard. He hits return before looking up. The guy is average looking but is built like a linebacker.

Dean pulls out his badge, "Hello, I'm Agent Elliott and this is Agent Collen. We're here about the disappearance last night."

The desk sergeant looks at the badges and frowns before picking up the telephone. A deep baritone dripping with contempt oozes from his mouth. "Sheriff, two FBI agents are here to see you." The desk sergeant nods before hanging up. "He'll be right with you. Wait over there." They move over to stand next to some chairs grouped around an ancient, scarred up coffee table with dusty fake flowers arranged in a green cracked vase.

"Are we sure they caught the right guy?" Dean whispers as he looks around at the out of date and dusty office.

Sam nods and watches as a short, rotund man with an awful comb over walks out of an office. The buttons on the man's shirt are stretched almost to the breaking point. As he moves the glasses resting on his forehead slide down to settle on his nose. He folds his arms over his chest as he comes to a stop. "Hi, I'm Sheriff Maxwell. You boys are with the FBI?"

Dean nods to Sam, "Yes, I'm Agent Elliott and this is Agent Collen; we just need to ask you a few questions."

With barely disguised contempt the Sheriff nods, "Well I would just love to help anyway I can. Come into my office."

The sheriff turns and stalks towards his office. Dean mouths "What the hell?" at Sam as they follow. They enter an office with a thin layer of dust on every piece of furniture except a beautiful wooden desk angled towards a corner. The desk is pristine and freshly polished with a shiny comfortable looking leather chair. Sheriff Maxwell motions to the two seats positioned in front.

The two chairs are wooden and appear to be straight from a grade school. Sam lowers into one of them and his knees wind up hitting him in the chest. Dean perches uncomfortably on the other one.

The sheriff skewers them with a cold stare. "How can I help you?"

Sam pulls out his pen and notebook and rests it on his knee. He didn't expect to receive any helpful information at this point. "We are here about the recent disappearances and murders. They match the Serenity Park Killer."

"Okay, and?"

Dean shifts restlessly; he really wants to pistol whip the prick for the hell of it. "Well, was there any forced entry, do you have any leads and may we see your case files?"

The sheriff steeples his fingers and rests his elbows on the desk. "There was no forced entry. We have a few leads we are working on." He opens a middle drawer and tosses a thin manila folder on the desk. "Here is everything we have."

Dean slides the file to Sam. Sam flips through the pages. "Is this it?"

"That's all I can give you. Let me assure you we have our best detective working this case."

Dean unleashes his skepticism, "And who would that be?" He had a hunch about the answer but asked anyway. The only thing this asshat has ever caught was a cold.

An arrogant smile crosses the sheriff's face. "Me. Now if there are no further questions I have a case to work." The sheriff stands up signaling the end of a non-productive conversation. Sam unfolds from the chair and extends his hand. The sheriff doesn't reciprocate. "I have another question; can you direct us to the morgue?"

"Sure, it's next door. I'll let Dr. Ramsay know you'll be stopping by."

Dean quickly exits the office and hears Sam thanking the arrogant ass for his assistance. What he wanted was five minutes alone with the jerk to pound some sense into him. Dean waits for Sam at the exit to the building. As the doors close behind them, Dean grinds out through clenched teeth, "What a dick."

Sam nods, "Yeah, I get the feeling he didn't want our help. He's hiding something."

"No kidding."

They walk down to the end of the block and enter the morgue. A tall, bald man with ebony skin is eating a sandwich and talking on a phone. "Yes sheriff I understand." He rolls his eyes before hanging up. "What a dick." He turns to find Sam and Dean standing in the doorway. Dean is grinning. "You must be the FBI agents that I'm supposed to frustrate and then feed misinformation too?" Sam and Dean nod as they shake the doctor's proffered hand. "I'm Dr. Ramsay and that's not going to happen. I want this bastard caught. I don't care what it takes."

They follow the doctor farther into the building. Sam pulls out his pen and notebook. "The latest killings match the Serenity Park Killer?"

"Yes, let me show you." He leads them into the cold storage locker room. Pulling out a shrouded body, he folds over the white sheet and grabs a folder off a silver tray. The body of a petite blonde is displayed on the stainless steel table. "The bruising around the temple is identical but the instrumentation doesn't match. It's almost as if the was performed without a weapon. I can't explain it. The cuts are identical but an instrument wasn't used. It's like the skin just split open."

Sam looks at the pictures enclosed in the folder. "The wounds are the same on all of the victims?"

"Yes."

"So some guy is doing copycat killings?" Dean looks over Sam's shoulder.

"It's possible. The original Serenity Park Killer fixated on petite blonde females. All of the victims have the same BFT and cutting patterns. I've never seen any copycat this accurate down to the slice patterns, though." The phone rings. "Excuse me for a moment." The doctor moves over to a phone hanging on the wall.

Sam examines the body on the table. "What do you think?"

Dean shrugs, "Ghost, maybe. Vengeful spirit, but it's been fifteen years. Why now?"

Dr. Ramsay walks back over. "I have a meeting to go to. If there is anything else you need, please let me know."

They shake the doctor's hand and leave the building. Climbing into the Impala Dean notices the sheriff looking out his window at them before dropping the blinds.

"Let's go talk to the family."

"The latest victim, Kathryn Edward, has no family, but she does have a contact listed, Emory West."


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pulls Baby to a stop in front of a modest ranch style home. He is still irritated with the sheriff. Granted, the guy is a dick; however, the urge to beat him into a bloody, crimson pulp of viscous goo still courses through his body. He takes a deep breath and tries his best to shake it off. Sam is already out of the car and waiting for him. They walk up to the small front porch. Dean knocks on the door. A voice yells from inside. "Coming." A beautiful woman opens the door. She is almost six feet tall with dark brown hair infused with auburn and golden natural highlights. Her eyes are hazel and her body is rounded in all of the right places. Her lips are full and opened in surprise.

"Oh my God. It's you." she whispers in awe.

Sam opens his badge. "I'm Agent Collen and this is Agent Elliott."

A look of confusion skitters across her face before a smirk plays on her lips. "No, you're Sam, you're Dean, but nice metal band reference."

Dean is at first stunned then his eyes narrow in on her. "Have we met before?"

"No."

Sam's confusion fuels his words, "How do you know us?"

A buzzer blares through the house. "Follow me into the kitchen and we can talk there."

Dean follows and admires the view of her ass encased in washed out blue jeans. He really hopes she isn't something he has to gank because the sway of her hips has his blood racing. It's been awhile since his last hook up but seducing the supernatural friend of a victim is skanky even in his book. It didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the happy rush and then take care of business back at the hotel where magic fingers were calling out to him. When he enters the kitchen she is bending down in front of the stove. The smell alone is breathtaking but pair that with her bent over and his body tightens further with awareness.

Sam joins Dean at the island in the middle of the kitchen. She stands up and turns around placing a steaming hot pie on the granite. Sam watches Dean knowing his mouth is watering like some frigging Pavlov test subject. He just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Dean is so predictable but the pie does smell good. He watches her lay down the potholders and scratch her cheek. A smudge of flour lingers.

"Sorry, I bake to calm myself. What can I do for you?"

"Are you Emory West?" Sam asks because Dean hasn't looked at anything but the pie since it was set on the island in front of him.

"Yes."

"How do you know us?"

"You're not a prophet are you?" Dean asks as he drags his gaze to Emory.

"No, I'm not a prophet. I do have visions. Sometimes they come true and sometimes they don't. But I have had enough to know that if you're here, it's worse than I thought."

Sam watches the emotions chase across her face. "What did you think?"

Emory sighs, "I thought, no, I hoped, that something came up. An emergency, or I don't know." She turns abruptly, moves to the cupboard and pulls out some desert plates before taking some forks out of a drawer.

Dean watches her graceful movements. "You reported her missing?"

"Yes." She grabs a pie server off the counter.

"How did you know she was missing?" Dean can't help it but he licks his lips, watching her standing over the pie with the server in her hand.

Sam has his pencil poised over the notepad in his hand. "Like you said, maybe an emergency came up?"

Emory dishes up the pie and places a plate before each of them as she answers. "I had talked to her about forty-five minutes or so before I arrived. She was sick and I was coming over to watch a movie. I was running a little late."

Dean takes a bite and the flavors explode on his tongue. A feeling of happiness and lust rushes through his body. "Oh my God. What kind is this?"

"It's whiskey caramel apple."

"It's awesome." He looks at Sam and notices he hasn't touched his slice. "You've got to try this."

Sam looks uncomfortable and notes something in his notebook. Emory smiles brightly, "I'm glad you like it." Dean savors each bite, not bothering to ask any more questions. He notices Sam still hasn't touched his piece and he slides it his way because there is absolutely no reason to waste an awesome pie. It would be rude to Emory if they left it untouched.

"When you entered her house did you see anything out of place?" Sam frowns at Dean and receives a pie filled smile. He focuses on Emory and just hopes she doesn't notice that Dean is wolfing down his food.

"No, everything looked normal."

"Any cold spots, smells, or any odd occurrences."

Emory shrugs, "She was sick. There could have been cold spots. I don't know. I didn't smell anything other than chicken soup. The only odd occurrence is that she wasn't home."

Dean swallows his last bite of Sam's pie. "You said you have visions. Did you have any of your friend?"

"No. If I had, I would have tried to stop it. The one thing I do know is that this bastard works on a five day cycle and she has four days left."

Emory turns around and pulls a key ring out of her purse before handing it to Sam. "This is the key to her house." She grabs a roll of tin foil, yanks off a piece and covers a whole pie sitting on the counter. She hands the pie to Dean. "If you need anything else, let me know and I'll get it for you."

Dean pulls a card out of his jacket and hands it to Emory. "This is my cell phone and the hotel we are staying at. If you think of anything else give us a call."

Emory takes the card. It is still warm. "Thank you. I will."

Dean follows Sam back to the Impala. Sam is more stiff than usual and just looks pissed. After anchoring the pie between them in the front seat he slips the key in the ignition. "What?"

Sam shakes his head. "Dude, how about showing some respect. Her friend was just kidnapped and could wind up dead."

"Why pretend? She knows who we are and she had pie." Dean fires up the Impala. "Kathryn's house?"

Sam nods and stares out the window. They are still working on their issues. Working together as family is hard. Working together as strangers serves a purpose but is ultimately lonely. There are days when he just wants to either take a swing at his brother or just throw his hands up in the air and walk away. Today seems like a good day for a walk.

The smell of pie permeates the interior of the Impala. Dean tries really hard to focus on the drive over to Kathryn's house. Sam is mad at him, as usual, and the pie seems to be the lesser of two evils. When they arrive, Sam grabs the EMF detector out of the trunk and Dean grabs a small container of holy water and another of salt. You can never be too careful. Some would call it paranoia; Dean calls it common sense. One ghost ass whipping is one too many.

Sam unlocks the front door and peeks inside. Actually having the keys to a house is a bit unfamiliar and daunting. Just opening the front door and not having to skulk around is a new and refreshing experience. Breaking and entering has its merits, but having the key feels powerful. Dean walks into the house and looks around the living room, his gun at the ready for anything that might jump out at him. Sam runs up the stairs. The EMF flat lines everywhere he points it. No activity, nothing out of place. Sam enters the kitchen and finds Dean looking out the back door. "Did you find anything?" Dean asks as he closes the back door.

"Nope. No sulfur, no EMF, and nothing out of place."

"Emory mentioned she smelled chicken soup when she walked in?"

"Yes?" Sam looks in the refrigerator. "There's a large bowl of chicken soup in here. Did the kidnapper let her put it away before he took her?"

"A considerate killer? I don't think so. We need to get our hands on the crime scene photos."

"I'll call Dr. Ramsay." Sam pulls out his cell phone and listens to it ring. He wanders into the living room as he starts to talk to Dr. Ramsay. Dean pokes around the kitchen some more.

"Dr. Ramsay said he will get us everything he can. He said he'd already started making copies and he'll drop it off later tonight."

Dean opens a cupboard. "At least someone is on board." He stares at the shelves, "What the hell?"

"What's wrong?"

Dean steps back and shows Sam the cupboard. Each shelf is immaculate with cans stacked in alphabetical order and in neat rows. Sam shrugs. Dean shakes his head. "Really? Either Kathryn has OCD or a ghost is channeling "Sleeping with the Enemy". Dean watches the light of recognition spark in Sam's eyes. Sam steps back into the living room. The living room is messy with magazines strewn on the coffee table and empty glasses sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. "The living room isn't immaculate. Maybe she obsesses more about the kitchen."

Dean follows into the living room. "Or, maybe the ghost has OCD. Great a clean freak ghost."


	3. Chapter 3

Kathryn jerks awake with a yelp of pain. She huddles tighter around herself in the darkness. A dirty blanket barely covers her body and her skin itches where the soiled fabric touches. Frail light slices through the gloom from doors that are not tightly shut. Kathryn leans forward until the light bisects her face. There is no heat and she is unable to see anything beyond the light. She shifts and the metal cuffs and chain secured around her ankles clink against the cold concrete floor.

Muffled footsteps break the silence. Kathryn holds her breath trying to determine if they are coming or going. When the slice of light becomes a blinding onslaught she raises her hands to cover her burning eyes. A scream rips from her throat when the chain around her ankles is jerked on. "No, please don't hurt me."

A vicious laugh makes her skin crawl and forces her to try desperately to move deeper into the tiny holding cell. Tears form in her eyes and slide down her cheeks to drip on the floor as she begs for her life. A large shadow cuts off the light before the sound of metal scraping concrete catches her attention. Kathryn screams in terror as the light reappears then morphs into a small slice.

"Let me go," she yells into the darkness between sobs. After a few moments the smell of food makes the rumble in her stomach take precedence. Feeling around with her trembling hands she finds a bowl of something warm and something that feels like bread. Kathryn picks up the bowl and holds it up to the light. It appears to be soup. She sniffs it before taking a hesitant sip. The bland taste of vegetable soup warms her lips and soothes her sore throat.

Dean rubs his eyes and leans back in the hard chair. The chairs at the Men of Letters bunker are more comfortable than these damn things. Hell, he could be doing research sitting in his own bed; being on the road sucks. Stretching his hands over his head a sigh escapes him when the kink in his back finally releases. "I can't look at this anymore." He pushes aside the files he'd been staring at for the last ten hours. It is dark outside he can see the neon sign of the hotel through a crack in the curtain. When did the sun go down? Everything just seems to run together. Alcohol will help get things straight and make it easier to sift through ten more hours of research. Standing up, he moves to grab a beer. He is disappointed to discover the refrigerator is empty. Dean turns and watches Sam scribbling in the margins of police reports he is reading. Sam scrolls through some information on the laptop. He looks up and notices Dean isn't sitting across from him. Scanning the room he finds Dean leaning against the counter behind him.

"We're out of beer. Do we have any more pie?"

"No." Sam answers as he picks up another file.

"Son of a bitch. It was good."

"I wouldn't know."

"You had a slice."

Sam turns around to look at Dean. "No, I reached for a slice and you pulled a gun on me."

"I did not."

Sam grimaces before turning back to the files, "You practically snarled at me."

"Whatever. I need a drink. I'm gonna hit the bar across the street. Want to join me?"

Sam shakes his head, "No. I want to follow up on something."

"Do you have a lead?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll call you."

Grabbing his jacket, Dean leaves pulling the door closed behind him. A few moments later he walks into the Shots and Brews bar. There are a few people huddled over drinks scattered around the bar. Booths along the sides are empty. In the center of the room is a large wooden bar with a padded railing and stools. There is a large mirror in the center with the name of the bar written in old English script along the top. Dean walks to the person leaning over the bar reading a paper. There is a silver chain nestled between her ample breasts and he would give almost anything to take its place.

As he approaches, she looks up and he is surprised to discover it is Emory West. A bright smile crosses her lips before she nibbles the edge of her lower lip. Emory folds up the paper and moves it to a cabinet behind her.

"Hi, Dean, from the look on your face it's not going well.

"We're following up on some leads."

"That makes me feel a little better." Emory wipes off the area in front of him. "What can I get you?" Dean reaches for his wallet. "No. You're looking for my friend. Your drinks are on the house."

"Whiskey."

"Do you like to sip it or slam it?"

"A little of both."

Emory's smile brightens. "A man after my own heart. I happen to have a bottle of my favorite." She saunters down the length of the bar. Dean watches her. Her long hair skims her waist in a tightly knotted French braid. Her worn blue jeans mold snugly to her lush body as she bends down and pulls a bottle out of the cooler. As she returns, the purple empire waist shirt does little to distract him from the silver chain hiding its secrets underneath. She places two glasses on the counter. Spinning off the cap she pours a couple of drams into each glass.

"I hope you like it." She clinks her glass against his and takes a good swallow. Dean sniffs the liquid before letting the strong sherry taste chase away the day's frustration. The liquid slides warmly down his throat.

"Damn, that's good."

"It's from my favorite distillery."

Dean takes the bottle and reads the label. It's a 16 year old whiskey from Scotland; the bottling date has been scratched off. "How did you get this?"

"I blew the owner."

Dean almost chokes on the whiskey in his mouth. Emory throws back her head and laughs. Warmth spreads through his body at the husky, joyous sound and the twinkle in her eye as she looks at him. "The look on your face," Emory shakes her head. "A wink, a smile and a friendly wager got me a case of what you're drinking."

"What was the wager?"

Emory winks and finishes off her drink before pouring them each another. "A lady never tells."

Dean can't help himself he smiles as he watches her and gulps down the smooth whiskey. She checks on a couple of the other patrons before returning to her spot near him. They continue to talk on and off as she serves up drinks. He quickly learns that she owns the bar and bought it from the previous owner five years ago. They start on a second bottle of whiskey; this one with a strong peat taste. The warmth flooding his body from the alcohol is helping to fight back the dark ever present void.

Before he realizes it his teeth are feeling numb. Emory is standing in front of him. He can hear her talking but he can't seem to respond or do anything but look at the silver chain around her neck. She leans forward until he can almost feel the warmth of her breath on his face and see into the depths of her shirt. "Would you like to see?"

Dean looks up. "Huh?"

He watches her hand move. The tips of her fingers disappearing into the front of her shirt; she pulls out the silver chain. It is a block medallion inscribed on both sides. She drops it into Deans' palm. He can feel her warmth on the metal as he slides his thumb over the three raised waves on one side and three raised Fleur de Lis on the other. Letting go of the chain he watches her return it to its resting place. Emory takes a sip of her whiskey, silently watching him. They assess each other for a few moments.

"Oh, sweetheart. It's been awhile since you've…docked, huh sailor."

Dean finishes his drink and licks his lips. She is the friend of a missing person, this isn't professional. Get up and walk away. All of these thoughts flood him and just as quickly disappear as he feels himself being drawn to her warmth. "You could say that."

Emory finishes her drink and leans on the bar. "It's not safe around these parts. I could walk you back to your room."

A whisper of a smile creeps across his face. She was going to protect him? If she only knew half the crap he was involved with. She would know a killer like him didn't need protection. His cell phone begins to ring before he can answer.

"Why don't you take that and I'll go lock up."

Dean grabs his cell phone. "Did you find something?"

"I think so." Excitement laces Sam's voice.

"Good, can you leave the room for a while?" A burning sensation starts throbbing in his right arm. He absently massages the area where the Mark of Cain is located. He can feel the raised skin through his flannel shirt.

"Why?"

"I've got company."

"It's two o'clock in the morning!"

Dean rubs his arm a little harder. He can feel warmth from the mark seeping through the fabric of his shirt. Son of a bitch his whole arm is starting to vibrate. What the hell is going on? He hopes this won't keep him from spending the night with Emory. That is one of the last clear thoughts that move through his mind before an icy rage sparks to life. Turning on the barstool he sees Emory with her arms raised and a man clad in blue jeans and a leather biker jacket pointing a small caliber gun at her. "Put the phone down and get over here."

"Dean what's going on?" Sam yells through the phone as Dean sits it on the bar. As he slides off the barstool the man fires a shot. Everything begins to move in slow motion. Dean sees smoke leaving the muzzle of the gun, the bullet barreling towards him and Emory jumping in front of the bullet before being thrown against him. Shock rockets through his body as he holds Emory to him and reaches for the gun holstered to his hip. By the time he has it raised and aimed the man is already out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean lowers Emory's limp body to the floor. Wet crimson blood covers her chest. She is still breathing but the breaths are shallow. He can hear a slight wheezing sound escaping her lips. Dean hears the bar door open behind him. He jerks around to take aim. "Hopefully, the douche bag decided to come back and finish the job", burns through his thoughts. Sam enters instead.

Dean holsters his gun and focuses on Emory. Moving his hands over her chest, he methodically searches for the bullet hole. He can't find anything. There is only blood and lots of it. After a moment, he feels like he is being watched. Dean looks up and finds Emory watching him.

"If you wanted to touch my breasts, all you had to do was ask."

Dean jumps back and pulls his gun, aiming it squarely between her eyes. "What the hell are you?"

Sam moves to stand beside Dean, his gun trained on Emory as well. She sits up holding her hands out to her sides. "You have nothing to fear from me."

"Yeah, right, I can't just take your word for it." Dean grates out.

Emory frowns as she looks between them. "Let me lock up and you can do all of the tests you want?" Sam and Dean look at each other. "This isn't my first rodeo, boys." Dean lowers his gun and nods. Regret slices through him. Why couldn't she just be normal?

A couple of hours later, Emory rubs her wrists once Dean removes the restraints.

Dean leans against the cabinet of the kitchenette. "What are you?"

Sam leans forward in his chair, watching her intently. "Who are you?"

Emory looks from one to the other. "As your tests proved, I am not a demon; I'm not a vampire or any other monster."

"That we've met." Dean chimes in.

"I don't kill people and I sure as hell don't eat them."

"Then what are you?" Sam inquires.

"I'm a soulmate."

"What the hell is that?" Dean scoffs.

"I'm a direct descendant of the Vestal Virgins." Dean and Sam share a look. "Once a high ranking virgin known as Vitalis Maximus completes her servitude she is awarded the opportunity to consummate the occasion with the god she serves. Her offspring from this mating has the capacity to be a soulmate."

Sam edges forward on his chair. "Are you the child of a Vitalis Maximus?"

"No, I'm a descendant of one."

"What does a soulmate do?"

"We search for our mate."

Dean scoffs and pushes off the counter. "Give me a friggin' break. Are you talking about true love or something?"

Emory frowns at his sarcasm, "If that's what you want to call it."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I need a drink." He opens the fridge and finds it empty. Remembering he went to the bar to get a drink, he shakes his head and slams it shut.

Sam remains focused on Emory. "That doesn't explain how you can get shot and survive."

"I'm immortal."

"Is your name actually Emory West?" Sam pushes.

Emory returns her attention to Sam. "Yes and no." She purses her lips and absently tugs at the silver chain around her neck. She sighs before speaking. In a clipped British accent she begins her story. "I was born Elizabeth Westlake in England, in the year 1725. I had a normal childhood. My mother died when I was born so I was raised by my father and four brothers."

"How did you know you were a soulmate?" Sam interjects.

"I was in my early twenties when I discovered I was different. I tripped on some slippery flagstones."

"So you skinned your knee and it healed." sneered Dean.

Emory's angry stare moves to Dean. "No, I tripped on some slippery flagstones and fell off a friggin' castle. You usually don't walk away from that."

"You don't look twenty."

"I age slowly. What's your excuse?"

"Dean." Sam interrupts their exchange. "Then what happened?"

Emory shoots Dean one last glare before resuming her story. "I was covered in blood and mud and scared. I ran away that night. Much later I met someone that was like me. She told me about soulmates. I spent my time traveling around Europe working with hunters. I was useful because I was immortal and wasn't trying to kill them." Emory drops the silver chain she has been absently toying with. She reverts to her American accent. "In 1902, I immigrated to America and I've been here ever since."

Sam leans back in his chair. He watches Emory as she picks at some dried blood on her arm. "Have you found your mate?"

"No."

"Until you do you are immortal?"

Emory returns her attention to Sam. "Yes."

"Do you know who he is?"

Emory shakes her head no. Dean pushes off the counter. "What the hell, Sam. We aren't running a paranormal dating service."

"I know that. It doesn't mean we can't help."

"So you want to help her find her guy?" Dean scowls as he prowls around the kitchenette. "Wait a minute." He turns to Emory. "You haven't found your guy yet?"

"No."

"And you're pledged to one guy?"

"Yes." Emory answers with exasperation infused in her answer.

Dean is deep in thought adding up the dates in his head. Shock blows through him at the number his brain refuses to accept. It couldn't be true. He levels Emory with a disbelieving expression willing her to deny it. "You're a 289-year-old virgin?"

Disgust plays on her face. "That's your take away, after everything I've told you?"

"Is it true?" Dean pushes.

"Yes. Are we done?" Emory's tone is defiant and irritated. Sam nods; Dean just stares at her. "Will this keep you from helping to find my friend?"

"No." Sam answers instantly. "And I found something."

Emory moves to the table and Dean stands near her looking over her shoulder. Sam pulls out some photos and a log sheet. "While I was investigating the original killer, George Lee Cooper, I found photos of him wearing this chain." The chain is silver in color with a Celtic symbol of twisted knots engraved in a pendant. "I checked property logs and didn't find anything about what had happened to that chain. "

Emory hands the photo to Dean. "Maybe he was buried in it?"

"There would be a list of items. I called Dr. Ramsay and he confirmed that nothing was buried with him, because he was cremated."

"So we are looking for a cursed object." Dean tosses the photo on the table.

"I also found the roll call of attendees at the execution." Emory and Dean lean in closer and look over Sam's shoulder at the piece of paper. Highlighted in yellow is the name Officer John Maxwell.

"That's the sheriff," states Emory in disbelief. "You think he took the chain. Why would he do that?" She looks between Dean and Sam.

"I don't know, but we've got to find that chain." Dean saunters away from the table, an uneasy feeling gathering in the pit of his stomach.

"I'll go talk to the sheriff about Kathryn and maybe I can snoop around his office a little."

"We can't ask you to do that."

"Sam, you're not asking. I'm telling you what I'm going to do." Emory checks her watch. "I have to get home. Let me know if you need anything."

Dean crosses to the door and opens it for her. Another pang of regret whispers through Dean before he decides to follow her out to her car. He watches the sway of her ass as she moves. I hope this guy is worth it, slides through his mind, before a thought forms.

"So you're a tease?"

Emory turns around just as she reaches her car door. "I'm only a tease if I promise something I don't deliver."

"There was an implication."

"An implication is called flirting."

Emory leans against her car and Dean leans against Baby. She watches him intently until the silence stretches; neither of them move or speak to fill it. "Dean, ask me what you really want to?"

Dean looks around. Not sure if he wants to know the answer. Standing up, he moves closer until he is within a few inches of touching her. "Why did you jump in front of that bullet?" He watches Emory's face as a Mona Lisa smile flickers across her lips. She reaches up with one hand and lightly caresses his cheek. The heat from her touch sears the coldness inside him like an electric current.

"Because sweetheart, you might be a jackass, but you are worth saving." Emory slides her hand to his neck and pulls him down before she places a soft kiss on his grizzled cheek. A small smile lights across her lips as she lets him go. Dean watches her open her car door and slide behind the wheel. He closes the door for her and returns to lounge against Baby, watching her leave. His thoughts are racing. I'm worth saving. How long had it been since he had heard those words. He didn't feel particularly worthy. All the killing, all the lies, and all of the blood that surrounded him had grown into a great big cold ruthless darkness inside him.


End file.
